


The Second Son, the Second Loved

by GoldenFinches



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: i'm sorry in advance, so that should tell you everything you need to know, the doc i wrote this in was titled Honestly Who the Fuck Knows, trying out a new writing style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 21:12:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10421874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenFinches/pseuds/GoldenFinches
Summary: Regulus never gets to play the hero, it is a silently agreed upon decision. Sirius is the hero and Regulus is whatever his brother needs him to be. And right now he needs him to be the villain.





	

Regulus has never been enough.

From the first breath he breathed he was never enough. The label of second son might has well have been stitched into the blanket the nurse had swaddled him in. It followed him from the hospital to the house to the school to the water where his body ended up resting for eternity. An invisible brand that burned under his skin and was left there to eat away at his soul. A constant reminder of where he stood in the world. The second son, the second loved. 

The first son, the first loved, grew to have his own marks to bear. Blood traitor eventually seared its nasty title into his brain. But before that title they were brothers. Sirius and Regulus, two stars to rule the skies. Sneaking out under the cloak of darkness, finding a home on the roof and spreading out a map of the stars with the clumsy, fat fingers of children too young to know anything of marks and titles. And the elder pointed at the stars and galaxies, showing the younger where exactly they and the rest of their family stood in the vast universe. Sirius and Regulus, two of the brightest stars, stood out against the blackness.

The house they sat upon was too big for children. Too empty and too vast, full of corridors to wander down and dark corners for monsters to hide. Sometimes monsters did hide. But Sirius always saved Regulus from them, no matter how real or how make believe they were. Regulus never got to play the hero, it was a silently agreed upon decision. Sirius was the hero and Regulus was whatever his brother needed him to be. It was a rule and rules must always be followed.

The Black family home had a lot of rules. No talking out of turn. No running in the halls. No bothering Father when he was in his study. No entering the kitchen. Each rule was followed by the brothers, for they knew of the consequences should they not. It seemed as though new rules were added all the time, without their knowledge and time to adjust. The punishments for not following these new, unheard of rules were still the same, however. This must be how rules worked, it was the only logical assumption in the young Regulus’ mind. 

And the boys grew. Sirius grew more loud and more tall. Regulus grew more quiet and barely any more tall. And one day a letter arrived. 

Letters always arrived at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, but this one was special. This one had a special red seal and special green ink, Regulus knew they were special. He had read about such letters before. And this one was addressed to his brother. He knew what this letter meant. Yet as his mother read it aloud, happier than he had ever heard her, he did not feel happy. He felt sad. Because even though this letter meant a great many things, the most important thing it meant to Regulus was that he was going to be alone. All alone. He did not show this sadness, however, but instead smiled happily as only a Black can do. A false grin that he would wear many times to come. Too many times.

He tugged Sirius down at the station, making him promise for the eleventh time that morning to write. And Sirius did just that, he promised. And then he left. And then The News came. 

Regulus did not fully understand The News, but he knew that his mother and father were not pleased by this. He knew what the The News meant, even though his mother had thrown it into the fire before he got a chance to read it. Sirius was a Gryffindor. Regulus knew what a Gryffindor was, he had read about them in his books. A Gryffindor was brave, noble, and chivalrous. Sirius, albeit loud, was all of those things. Regulus could not figure out the problem, yet there must have been one because Mother and Father were angry. Angrier than when he and Sirius had slid down the bannister and nearly broken a priceless vase. Mother was red in the face and screaming and flailing her arms. This flailing was what Regulus figured caused him to be struck across the face. That is what he told himself, although his logic told him differently.  

The boy ran to his room and covered his ears to escape the screaming and crashing. The house elf, Kreacher he remembered because Regulus remembers everything, came and put something cold on his cheek. Regulus thanked him for this, because saying thank you was polite and Blacks were polite. He decided to think out loud to Kreacher, asking him to listen. His logic worked best when spoken aloud. Regulus did not see anything wrong with being a Gryffindor, but he could see that there was something wrong with  _ Sirius _ being a Gryffindor. He knew how one became a Gryffindor and deduced that it couldn’t have been his brother’s fault. So although this was a problem, Sirius was not to blame. He smiled as he decided this and drifted off to sleep. Sirius was not to blame.

The red envelope he saw his mother send off with an owl the next day, he recognized it from his books, suggested otherwise. 

As his parents’ anger ebbed away and settled at a constant frustration, Regulus was alone. All alone, in the too big, too empty house not meant for children and certainly not meant for one alone. There was no Sirius to play hero, so Regulus had to break the unspoken rule and play the hero instead. He braved the dark passageways and stared down the monsters under the dusty beds as neither brother had ever done. For neither of them had been alone like Regulus had. At least he had Kreacher, the house elf who Regulus had begun to drag along with him across the too big, too empty house.

A small part of him wanted Sirius to be alone as well, but he was not. Sirius kept his promise of writing. He sent letters filled with stories of school and the castle. Of a giant squid in the lake (Regulus had read about those in a book) and a giant in a hut (Regulus had read of those too). Of his classes and his teachers, the homework he had and the magic he was learning. And of people. A James Potter (Regulus had read of his family), a Remus Lupin (Regulus had not read of his family), and a Peter Pettigrew (Regulus hadn’t even heard of his family). His letters spoke of adventures with these three new people and soon that’s all the letters were filled with. Regulus’s letters back were full of his tales of the too big, too empty house, Kreacher, and the books that he read. 

Then the letters got shorter, and shorter. And less frequent. And then there were no letters. So Regulus stopped sending letters back. Because one cannot send letters back when one receives none.

And then Sirius didn’t come home for Christmas. And subsequently missed Regulus’ birthday. He turned ten. 

And Sirius didn’t come home for Easter.

And Mother and Father grew angrier and angrier. 

And Regulus grew more and more alone. 

Then summer rolled around. 

Regulus soon learned that his parents were still very much angry about The News. They still hadn’t grasped the idea that Sirius was not to blame. Regulus was too scared to correct them. He also learned that they did not know of James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. Or, as they called them, the Blood Traitor, Half-Blood, and Bumbling Idiot. Regulus did not find these new names very polite, and Blacks were always polite, but he did not comment on it. 

He supposed that some rules could be broken, as long as no one knew you broke them. 

Sirius stayed in his room most of the summer, he wrote to his friends and even snuck out to see them. Regulus didn’t think Mother and Father noticed he was gone. Then again, they never called for Regulus when he stayed in the library all day. The summer was quiet and dull and then Sirius left again. And Regulus was all alone in the too big, too empty house. Again.

The next year was the same as the first. Except there were no letters this time. Regulus turned eleven without his brother. And that following summer was even quieter than the first. Sirius seemed angrier too, at Mother and Father and Regulus. Regulus understood the anger towards their parents, they still didn’t understand how Sirius was not to blame for The News, but he did not see what he himself had done wrong. He must have though, for Sirius was angry and anger has to have a source. 

Regulus is told by the old man that the beech wood of his wand means he is wise beyond his years. Regulus does not believe this to be true, but thanks him all the same. Because that is polite. 

Sirius leaves him standing in the train corridor without so much as a goodbye. Goodbyes are polite. Regulus does not tell his brother’s retreating form this. So Regulus sits by himself, but is soon joined by a nice girl with blond hair who has read one of the books he has read. 

The lake is very big and so is the giant squid. Books do not do those creatures justice, Regulus decides. The blond girl agrees. 

The Sorting Hat sings and Regulus thinks it has a nice voice, but that doesn’t calm his nerves. He knows this hat was the cause, not the fault but the cause, of The News.

He wishes the blond girl good luck after she wishes him the same as his name is called. This is the last he ever speaks to her, but neither of them know it then. You never know that the last of something has happened when it does. Regulus can see Sirius in the sea of black robes and round faces. He looks anxious as well. This observation does not help Regulus. The hat is placed on his head and the nice voice speaks to him. 

It tells him that he is smart (Regulus still doesn’t believe it) and hard working. That he is insecure and quiet, but his mind is always racing. That he is not very brave, but he is very determined. To prove himself and to make Mother and Father proud of his academic achievements. Regulus supposes this is true. 

He does not tell the hat where he wants to go. He does not think of what his parents want. He does not think of which table Sirius is sitting at and what colors adorn his clothes. Regulus does not think of where he wishes to sit and what colors he wishes to wear. Because he does not wish for a certain House. He just sits and listens as the nice voice yells out that he is a Slytherin.

Regulus thinks that this is a good fit. A Slytherin is cunning, resourceful, and determined. Albeit quiet, he is all of those things. A Slytherin. It was not a bad thing to be. The process by which one becomes a Slytherin did not make this Regulus’ fault. He was not to blame.

The disappointed and borderline disgusted expression on Sirius’ face suggested otherwise.

Regulus did not see a problem with being a Slytherin, but apparently there was a problem with  _ him _ being a Slytherin. He was not blame, his logic told him. Sirius blames me, it’s all my fault, he told himself.

The blond girl is a Ravenclaw. No one is disappointed or disgusted by this. Regulus does not understand.

He and Sirius don’t speak much after this. Regulus goes home for the holidays, Sirius does not. Regulus is alone when he turns twelve. This time he doesn’t even get a present from his brother. He’s scared that this doesn’t surprise him. 

Mother and Father are pleased with him, his house and his grades. Yet Regulus isn’t pleased with himself. His holiday and the rest of the school year are haunted with the disgusted expression on his brother’s face. 

That summer is the same as the past two. Regulus seemingly alone in the too big, too empty house.

Regulus drops a plate at dinner, another meal without Sirius’s attendance. Mother gets angry with him, too angry. Kreacher puts a bandage on his brow and holds his hand with his own dirty one. Regulus finds that he doesn’t mind if it’s dirty. He finds that he does mind that Sirius didn’t even hear anything happen. 

Sirius doesn’t hear a lot of things, but Regulus does.

His second year is a lot like the first. Sirius doesn’t talk to him, his other family does, and he turns thirteen alone. 

Regulus does learn a lot however. He learns about Sirius’ new friends, although he can hardly call them “new” now. He keeps track of when the Lupin boy leaves and learns his secret. He resolves not to tell anyone, the only way Lupin would be able to go to Hogwarts would be if Dumbledore allowed him to. And, despite his parents’ rantings about his incompetence (Regulus read what that word meant in a book), Regulus has found that his Headmaster is very competent and very smart. So therefore the Lupin boy can stay and Regulus will tell no one, he knows that he would be angered if anyone told his secrets. And the only person who can tell those is Kreacher, and Kreacher promises he would never. And Kreacher always keeps his promises.

Regulus thinks that a twelve year old should not have as many secrets as he does, but he can’t do anything to change that. He gains several more by the time summer rolls around, not all of them being his. Secrets, as Regulus is learning, are not defined by what the secret is, but rather by the fact that you do not share it. Regulus does not share any secrets, for they are the only things that are his. 

Kreacher and Regulus have some secrets as well. When Mother and Father are away or busy, Kreacher teaches Regulus things. Regulus learns how to cook and how to clean, where the herbs and potions are kept hidden, and where all the best hiding places are. He knows that all of this is against the rules, but rules can be broken as long as no one knows you broke them. Kreacher promises no one will know. And Kreacher always keeps his promises.

Sirius barely leaves his room that summer. Regulus starts to worry. He helps Kreacher cook meals and always slips a plate under Sirius’s door. The plate always comes back clean after a while. Regulus suspects that Sirius thinks this is Kreacher’s doing, and he doesn’t feel the need to tell him who is really feeding him. 

He gains another secret.

One of his secrets is discovered the next year.

Professor McGonagall writes a note on one of his essays, saying that she knows that he knows the proper wand movement for turning a teapot into a tortoise. Regulus had known and he had known he wrote it wrong. He also knows what his Transfiguration teacher is thinking as she watches him get the Lapifors spell wrong a convincing number of times before doing it perfectly.

She nevers says anything to him and for that he is grateful. He does not say anything to her when he finds a copy of  _ A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration _ in his book bag one day after class and for that she gives him a rare smile at lunch.

Regulus supposes that sometimes secrets can be shared. Sometimes.

He gains another secret when his brother and his friends go a whole month barely talking. Professor Sprout complains that some of her mandrake leaves have been stolen and Regulus realizes what the three Gryffindors are attempting (he read about the process in a book). Probably to help with Lupin’s “furry little problem” as Potter, ever the subtle one, called it. Regulus knows he should tell someone, this is a highly illegal and highly dangerous thing to do, but by the look in McGonagall’s eyes as she watches Pettigrew struggle to talk with the leaf in his mouth, he can tell that she, too, knows. Despite his parents rantings about Gryffindors and their fecklessness (Regulus read what that word meant in a book), Regulus has found that his Transfiguration professor is very responsible and very smart. So therefore the Marauders (as they so annoyingly referred to themselves as) can help their friend and Regulus will tell no one.

He was surprised that no one else finds out from their nicknames and inside jokes. He thinks maybe the smart Muggle-born, Lily Evans, knows as well, but he is never sure. 

Lily Evans is an enigma to him. Mother and Father told Regulus that Muggles and Muggle-borns are inferior to wizards and Purebloods. But Lily Evans is top of her class and she is a Muggle-born. And Severus Snape is second in their class and he is a Half-Blood. So there is no way that those with less pure blood can be inferior, his logic tells him. Mother and Father were wrong about The News being Sirius’ fault, so maybe they are wrong about this as well. Regulus does not correct them. 

He gains another secret. 

The Slytherin Seeker gets hurt, pretty badly, and announces her early retirement from the sport at age sixteen. Regulus comes to the tryouts and becomes the new Slytherin Seeker. When he writes to Mother and Father about this all they say is to make sure this doesn’t distract him from his classes. Sirius doesn’t say anything. Regulus is scared that this doesn’t surprise him. 

His Uncle Cygnus gives him the newest Silver Arrow model for Christmas, no doubt Narcissa had told him of Regulus’ success on the Quidditch pitch. His parents don’t comment on it. Regulus finds that he quite enjoys doing something his parents seem to disapprove of. He supposes every teenager must, and he, at age thirteen, is no exception. He turns fourteen and he still isn’t.

The rest of his third year isn’t as boring with the added addition of flying.

Then The Night comes.

Summer holiday had been the same as always. Sirius holed up in his room, Regulus holed up in the library, and Kreacher bringing the younger brother coffee and an ear to listen throughout the day. And then The Night falls and with it so does Regulus’ heart.

The date is July 27, 1975. The time is 3:26 in the morning. 

Regulus wakes up, much too early, and his stomach drops. He does not know why but he feels as if something is wrong. The too big, too empty house feels more so in both aspects. In a way that it hasn’t felt since he was eleven. He gets out of bed, careful to place the covers back perfectly, and leaves his room. He waits outside of Sirius’ room, as he has done several times in the past. But instead of shaking his head and leaving, as he usually does, he grasps the doorknob and opens the door.   

The fact that the door is not locked is the first sign of alarm.

Regulus casts a quick Lumos spell (he had long ago learned that with his parents in the too big, too empty house he could never get caught doing underage magic) and surveys the room around him.

It is very different from the room he had seen so long ago and has not gained entry to since. Muggle posters adorn the walls and red and gold colors shinn from every possible nook and crany. The most alarming thing, however, are the thrown back covers on the bed.

Regulus examines the bed more closely, hoping it’s just a trick of the light. Empty. He throws open the closet doors. Empty. Regulus spins around, fear bubbling throughout his body. He sees the window, open just a crack. Sees the footprints in the mud outside. Sees the unmistakable wheel tracks left by a trunk. 

Feels dread seep through his every pore and spill out of him.

Regulus backs away from the window. He finds himself backed up against the bed. He sinks to the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest. He wraps his thin arms around his knees.

There was no fight. No throwing of glasses, no hit and kicks. No words screeched at Sirius from their parents’ mouths. No racing upstairs and furious packing. No slamming of the door. There was no asking Regulus to come with him. No knock on the younger brother’s door in the dead of night. No begging at the front door, trunk in hand and tears falling. No words exchanged. There was no note left. No way of conveying where he was going. There was no warning. There was no indication.

There wasn’t even a goodbye.

And as Regulus sits there, knees to chest, his logic is racing once again. Either Sirius did not want Regulus to leave with him, wanted him to stay with Mother and Father, and left without him, or he forget about Regulus entirely and left without him. Regulus’ logic can’t tell him which one is worse.

And Regulus cries.

He hasn’t cried since his cousin Andy wasn’t allowed to attend his ninth birthday and no one had told him why. But on The Night he cries once more, for the very last time. He does not know it then. You never know that the last of something has happened when it does. 

Regulus does not know how long he cries for. He stays on the floor for a long time, trying not to think and to stop his logic for once.

Because now Regulus is alone. All alone, in the too big, too empty house not meant for children and certainly not meant for one alone. Sirius had not played hero in a very long time, and Regulus does not feel up to talking that role. There is no hero in this tale, he decides. Merely him. Alone. Again.

He is abandoned. Forgotten.

He does not remember going back to his own room. Only remembers waking up to screaming. Kreacher must have told Mother and Father. 

So Regulus watches as Sirius is burned off of the tapestry. He watches as his parents, without shedding a single tear, wipe the ashes away. He watches as Kreacher serves them breakfast. He watches his mother ask his father about his work at the Ministry. He watches as the summer goes by, as if nothing has happened. 

No one seems to care. Regulus cares. His logic tells him he should care, but those around him suggest otherwise. 

The start of his fourth year, seeing Sirius laughing and smiling with Potter, tells him he shouldn’t.

He still does care. He hates that he still does.

Professor Slughorn seems to like him. He invites Regulus to this club he has, one that Severus Snape and Lily Evans are members of. He goes to the meetings and to the Christmas party. He talks to the other “elites” there and forms connections, under strict orders from Mother and Father. He shakes hands and smiles happily as only a Black can do. He hopes that he appears as though he does not care. Maybe if he acts like he doesn’t enough, he will stop caring. 

His fourth year passes quickly yet slowly at the same time. 

He turns fifteen.

His first full summer alone in the too big, too empty house is painful the way sticking your tongue against something frozen is. Cold and numb. 

There is a war raging on outside the too big, too empty house. His father puts up wards. His mother praises Voldemort (Regulus is many things but he is not a coward, he can speak a name without fear) and his followers. Cousin Bella proudly shows off her Dark Mark when they visit her and her husband, Rodolphus. Cousin Cissy doesn’t even mention the war when they visit her and her husband, Lucius. Regulus can see the black ink when Lucius reaches across the table, however. He doesn’t say anything when the elder man flashes him a grin. Cissy hugs Regulus a bit longer than she usually does when they leave. 

His parents say that he shall soon play his part in the war. They do not say how, but Regulus knows what they mean. He simply nods at this, never letting the utter terror growing deep inside him show.

Regulus has always been good at hiding things. He needs to be better.

He asks Professor Slughorn about Occlumency (Regulus read about that in a book). His potions teacher is reluctant, but he agrees to answer questions. Regulus does not need full lessons and Slughorn knows this.

Slughorn nevers says anything to him and for that he is grateful. Regulus does not say anything to him when he finds a copy of  _ A Guide to Occlumency _ slipped under his potions textbook and for that he squeezes Regulus’ shoulder more tightly as he leaves the next Slug Club meeting. 

The book is returned without a word in a few months.

Regulus is better at hiding things now.

His heart beats faster this winter holiday. The unspoken knowledge his family shares weighs heavily on his shoulders. Christmas dinner is quite. He receives a new book on defensive spells. 

His heart beats faster still as he turns sixteen. He thanks each relative and notices Bella’s sinister smirk. His heart skips a beat and then falls. Her birthday present is a special one.

They apparate to Bella’s house and there they wait. Until he comes.

Regulus sees the utter adoration in Bella’s eyes, the respect in Rodolphus’, the regard in his father’s, and the reverence in his mother’s. Regulus hopes his convey something of the same, and not the danger he so dearly feels.

The man before him did not look like a man, not entirely. Regulus cannot help but wonder why. He asks if Regulus agrees to what is about to happen. Regulus knows there can only be one answer. 

He is scared. He is scared and confused and alone. So very alone in this room full of people. People who are only there incase he gives the wrong answer.

Regulus says yes.

Receiving the Mark is painful, but not as painful as the cold and numb summer. Not as painful as The Night. Not as painful as The News. It’s over. Regulus barely hears the discussion of meetings, the congratulations, the conditions of him still being at school. He hears his heart, still beating fast and never slowing down.

Sirius knows. Regulus knows Sirius knows. He’s not sure how he knows but he knows he knows. Regulus only wears long sleeves from then on. But somehow Sirius knows. 

Regulus never got to play the hero, it was a silently agreed upon decision. 

He stops Regulus in the hall and drags him into a corner. He tells the younger brother to think about what he’s doing. Regulus tells him that Sirius himself never thinks about what he does. And then he leaves, his words left hanging in the air, the unspoken meaning behind them searing into Sirius’ chest. This is the last time the brothers speak to each other. They do not know it then. You never know that the last of something has happened when it does. 

His words were spoken with no pain and no sorrow and no care. They were void of emotion. They had been nothing.

Regulus is scared that this doesn’t surprise him. 

The rest of the year speeds by in a blur. Regulus performs well on his O.W.L.s, just well enough to please his parents but not well enough to arouse suspicion. He doesn’t miss the concerned and slightly disappointed looks he gets from Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn as he exits their exams. He’s used to them by now. 

That summer he attends his first meeting. He is the youngest one there and tries not to shiver with fear. Regulus is given no instructions but he does listen. Voldemort mentions immortality far more than one would expect. Regulus finds this odd.

There are no more meetings over the summer, or at least none he can attend. So Regulus begins his sixth year with a new form of fear. He notices the increased security Hogwarts. To keep the school safe. From him. He felt sick. 

He spends most of his time in the library. Regulus researches the founders’ lineages, for no reason in particular, just something Professor Binns had said. He stops when he reaches a section on Hepzibah Smith, a possible descendent of Helga Hufflepuff. He rereads the few paragraphs on her death. He asks Madam Pince for access to Auror records, she’s learned by now not to ask, and Regulus finds the one on Hepzibah’s “accidental” demise. 

Regulus knows house-elves. He knows Kreacher. He knows the elves at the school. He’s read all about them. Regulus knows house-elves. Hepzibah’s Smith’s house-elf could never have gotten her tiny hands on Veloxolorem Poison. And there was absolutely no way she could have mistaken it for sugar. 

Regulus does something he has never done before. He tears a page out of a library book. He stuffs the page about Hepzibah’s death in his bookbag and continues reading the report. Something is off about it but Regulus cannot find the answer. He will look for it tomorrow.

He does not find it tomorrow. 

He asks Slughorn if he ever knew a Hepzibah Smith, to which he answers yes. He further asks if she was really a descendent of Helga Hufflepuff. Slughorn believes she was, he tells Regulus that not only did Hepzibah have an old Hufflepuff heirloom, she also had in her possession a locket from Salazar Slytherin that Slughorn himself was lucky enough to see once. Says that she got it from one of the owners of Borgin and Burkes. Regulus asks what happened to these heirlooms. Slughorn does not know. He says that they were not listed off in Hepzibah’s will and, now that he thinks about it, seem to have vanished. He refers to this as an odd turn of events that he never gave much thought to until now. Regulus thanks him for his time and leaves. 

The next day he takes the Auror report from the library and stuffs it in his bookbag. 

Regulus turns seventeen in the too big, too empty house.

He discovers more things throughout his sixth year at Hogwarts. He learns to apparate. He relearns things for his N.E.W.T.s, things he never actually forgot in the first place because Regulus remembers everything. He learns how much the war is taking a toll on people, sees his fellow students being pulled out of class to be told bad news and receiving letters that make them burst into tears over their treacle tarts at dinner. He discovers that Voldemort had been making rather strange additions to his reign of destruction. Random murders that seemed a bit out of place. Odd sightings that didn’t line up with his plans. He saves these newspaper clippings, not really sure as to why.

That summer he attended several more meetings, his new “of age” status allowing it. He listens to Voldemort’s words. Watches Bella fall in love with her “master”. Watches Rodolphus not care. Watches Cissy join them at the table, her arm still bare and her face a cool mask. 

He feels Voldemort in his mind. Feels him searching for treachery and for knowledge. He puts his barriers up. Projects false truths. Voldemort is satisfied and leaves his mind.

He speaks more on immortality. Regulus finds this even more odd.

Regulus sticks the book page and the Auror report on one side of his wall and the newspaper clippings to the other side. Green string soon connects the necessary pieces on both sides. The clusters do not connect with each other. 

He goes to Diagon Alley for the last time. He does not know it then. You never know that the last of something has happened when it does. 

He sneaks away to Knockturn Alley, leaving Mother and Father in a book shop. He finds Borgin and Burkes, having been there once before at the tender age of twelve. Regulus asks to speak with Caractacus Burke and then asks him about Hepzibah Smith. Burke is not very forthcoming, but a handful of galleons gets him talking. He tells Regulus that he sold her the locket belonging to Salazar Slytherin many years ago. He tells him that two days before Hepzibah was found dead he had sent an employee of his to negotiate a deal with her. Regulus remembers that the Auror report said that Hepzibah had died two days before she was found because he remembers everything. He asks for the name of the employee. Another handful of galleons and he is given the name Tom Riddle. Before he leaves Regulus tells Burke not to mention he ever set foot in his store. 

He researches in the library and finds that Tom Riddle was a student at Hogwarts in the 1930s and 40s, earning a few awards. Also gaining membership to the Slug Club. 

Regulus asks Slughorn if he knew a Tom Riddle. His favorite professor’s reply is short and curt. He says he knew a Tom Riddle, but it was a long time ago and he barely remembers him. Regulus knows he isn’t being truthful, but does not press the issue. There is one more person he can ask.

Professor McGonagall does not seem surprised by his question, merely resigned. She tells him that she had met a Tom Riddle once, in passing. He asks if he was anything special. She says in a sense of the word. He asks what she means by that. She says that Tom Riddle now goes by a different name, one that she cannot speak. He thanks her and leaves.

The realization sends his mind racing in a way that would make the Sorting Hat proud with its decision. When his classmates ask if he is okay he says that he is fine and smiles happily as only a Black can do. On the inside he is deteriorating. 

When he returns home for Christmas he adds many more newspaper clippings and a photo of one Tom Riddle, the name Lord Voldemort scribbled beneath it. The green string now connects the two, formerly separate, clusters into one. Two crude sketches of the locket and Helga Hufflepuff’s cup (Regulus read about them in books) are added to the mix. A question mark is drawn in on both of them. An additional sentence is written on the Auror’s report next to Hokey the house-elf’s name, “Where is she?” 

Regulus places a concealment charm over the whole assembly of photos, handwritten notes, and newspaper clippings. 

He attends one meeting over his holiday. Voldemort mentions immortality again. Speaks of outliving them all. Tells vaguely of the experiments he did, the boundaries of magic he has pushed. Regulus finds this extremely odd.

Regulus turns eighteen and only realizes the day after.

He discovers more by the time his seventh year ends. The last known whereabouts of the locket before it fell in the hands of Hepzibah Smith and disappeared. It belonged to the Gaunt family, no doubt Slytherin’s descendants. Burke hadn’t seemed to know who he had gotten the locket from, he had just mentioned a woman. The Gaunt family line ended with Merope Gaunt, as far as Regulus can tell, who vanished after her father and brother were sent to Azkaban. Her brother, Morfin, was imprisoned a second time for the deaths of the Riddle family. A Muggle family. 

Regulus feels an anger at Voldemort’s hypocrisy that he didn’t know he could possess until now. A Half-Blood arguing for the rule of Purebloods. He feels sick.

He reads on to find that one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore appealed for Morfin’s release and had proved that his memory had been tampered with. Morfin died before he could be released, however. There is no doubt in Regulus’ mind that Dumbledore had reached the same conclusion that he is reaching in the present. 

Regulus notes the disappearance of a ring that belonged to the Gaunt family as well. 

He rips the Auror reports out and stuffs them in his bookbag.

The reports are all three added to the increasingly large map of paper on his bedroom wall. The question marks on both of the heirlooms are erased and the green string connects the cup to Voldemort and the locket to Marvolo Gaunt, then to Merope, then Burke, and lastly Voldemort. Regulus draws another primitive sketch, this time of a ring, and connects that through the Gaunt family and ties the string off on the pin stuck in Voldemort’s younger face.

He can’t help but notice that Voldemort will need a second pin soon to hold more string.

Regulus has to attend every meeting now. And it’s only a matter of time before his age is no longer an issue and he is called in for fighting. 

Another attack another newspaper clipping. 

Another battle another piece of string.

Another unnecessary visit another pin. 

The map keeps growing and growing and Regulus still doesn’t know what it all means.  

Voldemort rambles about immortality and its conditions again and Regulus senses he is almost there. 

Regulus is called away on his first mission. He never fires a single spell yet dodges quite a few. He manages not to throw up as he steps over the body of a girl he used to tutor in Arithmancy. He’s able not to faint when Rabastan shoots a green colored spell (Regulus had read about such a spell in a book) at a woman who had sold Regulus his first set of quills when he was eleven. He succeeds in not screaming when he sees the gory insides of one of his fellow quidditch player’s parents splayed across the ground next to his lifeless corpse. 

He doesn’t go home after this. He goes to the Malfoy’s home, knowing that Lucius is at the Ministry currently. Narcissa doesn’t ask any questions when he runs into her arms and shakes uncontrollably. She just holds him and holds back tears. 

He’s only sent on a few more missions in the next few months. Voldemort doesn’t seem to realize the extent of Regulus’ abilities and for that Regulus is grateful that Minerva McGonagall and Horace Slughorn can keep secrets as well as he can. 

He never kills anyone. He hopes the other Death Eaters don’t notice this.

Regulus keeps on serving a cause he does not believe in and Voldemort keeps dropping hints. The map keeps growing in size and Regulus’ heart keeps filling with fear and dread and hopelessness. 

And then Voldemort asks for an elf.

Regulus’ mind has always been as fast as his broom. His logic even faster. He knows that this request is an exceedingly odd one, that someone of Voldemort’s ideology would never in a Basilisk’s lifespan request help from a house-elf. And Regulus can feel that this will give him the missing puzzle piece. He knows what he must do.

He volunteers Kreacher.

Regulus’ mind is prepared for the attack by the skilled Legilimens and he fends it off beautifully. 

Voldemort agrees.

Regulus knows he should regret this choice, knows that he is putting his one friend in unforeseeable danger, but he does not. He is sorry, but not regretful. Not yet at least. Kreacher looks a bit shocked and a bit frightened when Regulus informs him of his new, unknown task. As his master informs him that he must do whatever the Dark Lord asks the small elf nods his head shakily. Regulus tells him that his top priority, his override to any of Voldemort’s orders, is to come home alive. Kreacher promises he will. And Kreacher always keeps his promises. 

And Kreacher leaves, venturing out into the unknown, and Regulus is left alone in the too big, too empty house. He finishes a book he had to have started months ago. Being a Death Eater and also trying to solve mysteries took up a lot of time, Regulus is finding. This was the last book he would ever finish, but he didn’t know it then. You never know that the last of something has happened when it does.   

When Kreacher returns something inside Regulus breaks. 

Kreacher, the one who has always been by Regulus’ side. Kreacher who holds Regulus’ hand as he struggles not to cry. Kreacher who bandages his wounds and gives him sleeping drafts. Kreacher who listens when Regulus thinks out loud and then thinks out loud himself. Kreacher who talks to Regulus about meaningless things to distract him from the horror outside of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Kreacher who reluctantly teaches him how to cook and doesn’t tell Mother and Father. Kreacher who always keeps his promises. Kreacher who has never ignored him. Kreacher who has never struck him across the face. Kreacher who has never left without saying goodbye. Kreacher who has always made sure that Regulus is never absolutely and truly alone in the too big, too empty house, even when he thinks that he is. 

And Regulus shatters. 

The shivering and cold (much, much too cold) elf is laid down and swaddled in blankets. Hot liquids are forced down his throat along with small doses of potions. Soon he is better and not shivering and not cold. But Regulus is still broken, still shattered. 

Regulus’ eyes are stoic and impassive, devoid of all emotion, as Kreacher recounts his tale to Regulus. He speaks of the sea, of a cave, of a boat, of a basin, of a lake, of a horrible potion, of a terrible vision, of a lifeless body in the water, and of a locket. A golden locket with an emerald S. 

And then Regulus knows.

The missing piece of his map is added. A pin is stuck, green string wrapped around it and connected to the cup, the ring, and the locket. The cup could have just been a token. The ring possibly just lost to time. There are no absolutes where those two are concerned. The locket is an absolute, however. The locket is a Horcrux (Regulus read about that in a book), his logic tells him. 

And he knows where it is. 

With his scarred house-elf standing next him, his assembly of paper and photos staring back at him, and the Mark on his left arm burning, Regulus makes a decision in the too big, too empty house.

The next meeting he attends is minutes after he makes the decision. Voldemort’s probing in his mind is as present as it ever is. And Regulus’ defenses are more of a reflex than a fight by now. He doesn’t know how he remains collected while sitting at the long table. But he does.

Replicating the locket isn’t very difficult. The picture from the book helps, as does Kreacher’s own memory. Besides, if or when this version of the locket is found, its accuracy won’t matter as soon as it is opened. 

The note takes an hour to write. Finding the right wording and phrasing is harder than he had anticipated. Ink blots fall and he has to start over. He does not cry. He does not shake. His hand is steady, his face is phlegmatical (Regulus read what that word meant in a book), and his mind is unwavering. He is numb.

Regulus is scared that this doesn’t surprise him. 

Deciding how to sign the note takes a while. Regulus is too personal. Regulus Black is too formal. Regulus Arcturus Black is too much. R.A.B. is sufficient, like the plaque he has hanging on his door. 

He folds the note as many times as he can and sticks it in the replicant locket, closing the piece of jewelry. He smiles happily at Kreacher as only a Black can do.  

Regulus waits another week for Kreacher to heal fully. 

He takes down the newspaper map (he doesn’t need it anymore) and gets rid of all the pins and all the green string. He leaved the newspaper clippings up and removes the concealment charm. Regulus has always been good at hiding things. 

When he steps outside of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Kreacher’s hand in his, he doesn’t look back. This is the last time he will leave his home, and he knows it. The two figures disappear from the doorstep with a *pop*. 

Salty seawater sprays in Regulus’ face and in his eyes. He screws them shut, rubbing at them with his free hand. Kreacher glances up at him and Regulus nods. Another *pop* and they are inside the cave.

Kreacher finds the invisible boat and he and Regulus climb inside it. Regulus stares into the water, knowing very well what lurks in the murky depths. They reach the island quickly, the boat keeping a steady pace. The basin that Kreacher spoke of rests in the middle of the island. 

Regulus brings out his wand and conjures a goblet. Kreacher reaches for it but Regulus adamantly refuses his assistance. Kreacher’s willingness to drink the potion again makes Regulus feel sick. He makes the elf’s orders clear. Regulus must not stop drinking. He dips the goblet into the emerald liquid and brings it to his lips. 

The first drink doesn’t hurt.

The second burns a little.

The third causes him to stumble.  

The fourth and he falls over.

The fifth Kreacher forces him to consume.

Regulus loses count. 

His insides are burning. Visions dance in front of him. He’s no longer in the cave. Kreacher isn’t there. There is only pain. Pain and memories. 

His mother is angry. Her flailing arms cause him pain. His father is not pleased. Andy isn’t there and he can’t stop crying (God, why can’t he stop crying?!). Mother and Father are angry at his tears. Crying is not polite and Blacks are polite. Blacks  _ do not cry _ . The News comes, again and again. Mother is angrier and angrier. Regulus must not turn out as his brother has. She and Father make that very clear. Too clear. This time there is no Sirius to play the hero. Sirius’ disgusted expression follows him throughout the school. The Night plays on repeat. Crying for hours, sinking to his knees. The bed is empty. The closet is bare. The window is open and there are footprints in the mud. Crying, he can’t stop crying ( _ Blacks do not cry _ ). A wand presses to his left arm and he grits his teeth. Think about what you’re doing, Reg (I am, I am, I am). Bella’s smirking face won’t stop staring at him. Cissy’s cool mask haunts him. He doesn’t run to her arms this time. The girl, the shopkeeper, and the parent are dead and lifeless and won’t leave him (their eyes are hollow and emotionless, just like his). Another mind is in his, searching for betrayal. He puts up walls of defenses but the fear still protests (he knows, he knows, he knows). Kreacher’s sick and barely alive form stumble into view (it’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault). He’s lost in the wandering corridors and dark corners. He’s all alone in the too big, too empty house (Good God why did you leave?!). All alone, all alone, all alone. 

It stops.

The pain ebbs away, leaving thirst in its wake. He can’t continue on, but he does.

Regulus puts the locket in Kreacher’s small hand, orders him to switch them. Kreacher does it without hesitation. Regulus holds the Horcrux in his hand. He can feel the evil in it, feel Vol-Riddle’s soul pulsing. He doesn’t want to give it to Kreacher, doesn’t want him to feel this evil. Kreacher takes the locket.

Regulus’ orders are clear. He knows that Kreacher doesn’t want to follow them, but they both know he must. He mustn't tell Mother or Father. He mustn’t tell Sirius or Cissy. He mustn’t tell anyone. Regulus does not know if Kreacher can destroy it but he orders him to. He must try. Kreacher is protesting, saying that he can take Master Regulus home. Regulus tells him to go. He yells and screeches and screams. Kreacher’s eyes are downcast for a split second.

And in that second Regulus knows he can leave. He can grab Kreacher’s hand and the two of them can apparate away. He can go to Dumbledore or to Sirius and divulge this information. He can go into hiding, find a safe house and help end the war from there. Or he can become a spy, transferring information from one leader to another.

He doesn’t have to die here, his logic tells him. Yes he does, he tells himself. 

Regulus tells Kreacher that he must not come back here. Kreacher promises that he won’t. And Kreacher always keeps his promises. 

And then Regulus is alone. All alone in the too dark, too cold cave.

He’s thirsty. Very, very thirsty. He knows that he shouldn’t but he goes to the edge anyway. His hand reaches into the water and a hand reaches up for him. It grabs his wrist and drags him into the water where more hands find him. The hands of the Inferi (Regulus has read about them in a book) take hold of anything they can, his body, his clothes. 

He closes his eyes as his head is dunked under. The beech wood wand that means he is wise beyond his years (he believes it now) slips from his fingers and falls through the water without him. 

He does not think of what his parents want. He does not think of what Sirius would think. Regulus does not think of what he wishes he could have done and what he could have been. Because he does not wish for anything but this. 

His mind is not filled with thoughts of his family. It is not filled with fantasies of Sirius finally being proud of him. It is racing, as it always has been. And his logic is racing faster. If he were to live than all of this would not matter. If Kreacher told people of his fate than all of this would not matter. Because Regulus was not doing this for praise. Not for affection, or redemption, or forgiveness. He was not doing this to regain the love from those he had never been able to hate. He was doing this for himself.

Secrets, as Regulus has learned, are not defined by what the secret is, but rather by the fact that you do not share it. Regulus does not share any secrets, for they are the only things that are his. 

He has not shared this secret with anyone. Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn will never discover this one. His parents will never punish him for all the rules he has broken, some rules can be broken, as long as no one knows you broke them, and Mother and Father will never know. Riddle will never search Regulus’ mind for treachery again, and he will never know of his betrayal. Sirius will never know that Regulus has finally played the hero, Regulus never gets to play the hero, it is a silently agreed upon decision. Sirius is the hero and Regulus is whatever his brother needs him to be. And right now he needs him to be the villain. Not even Kreacher shares the entirety of this secret with him. For this is Regulus’ secret and his alone. Only Regulus will know.

And for the first and last time in his life, Regulus is enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty! That took fucking forever to write and then even more time to edit. Please tell me what you thought of it! I know it starts in past tense and then transitions to present, like I said, trying something knew. Was the repetitive nature okay or was it just awful? Here is some stuff that I felt worthy of mentioning...for some reason:  
> -Regulus' birthday is December 30  
> -Regulus' wand is beech wood, unicorn hair core, 11 inches, unyielding  
> -the blond girl was Pandora Lovegood  
> -it never specifies when Sirius actually ran away, just that he was "about sixteen"  
> -McGonagall started Hogwarts the year after Riddle graduated, but he came back asking for the DADA position, so they very likely could have bumped into each other  
> -Auror reports are a thing in this, just roll with it  
> -Slughorn had to have been a skilled Occlumens to have altered his memory and kept that information from Dumbledore, and it is suggested that Regulus is as well because he was able to conceal information from Voldemort  
> -Silver Arrows were hot shit once upon a time, okay?  
> -Andromeda had Tonks when she was 20, in 1973, so she must have gotten married straight out of Hogwarts at 18, 19, or 20, 1970-73, Regulus was born in 1961, depending on when Andy's birthday was the last time he would have seen her would have been when he was around 9-11, so that's where I got his ninth birthday  
> -Velexolorem isn't real, I made it up, they never mention the name of the poison that killed Hepzibah, just that it was "little known"  
> -all the shit about Hepzibah and the Gaunts is accurate, it seemed the only way that Regulus would have connected Voldemort to Horcruxes, at least to me  
> -knowing Slughorn he most definitely crossed paths with Hepzibah at one time or another  
> -it is suggested that the replicant locket is a Black family heirloom, but I find it very unlikely that Regulus would just happen to have a copy of the exact Horcrux he finds, so I had him make the replicant  
> -Bellatrix's and Rodolphus' marriage is stated to be a loveless one, just for...you know...Pureblood shit  
> -the newspaper map is my reason for Regulus keeping track of Voldemort's "successes", he must have had to shut a few people up about his Horcruxes and go check on them now and then, and Regulus noticed the oddity of it  
> -the only memories Dumbledore got from Burke were of Merope and Hepzibah, I believe, so Regulus' talk with him went unnoticed, same with his talk with Slughorn  
> -McGonagall just thought that sooner or later Regulus (smart little cookie he is) would have found out Voldemort's true identity, she wasn't very suspicious of his question  
> -Regulus is decent at art, trust me on this, the boy painted his family crest above his bed  
> -I wanted Regulus to go visit Andy and Tonks before he died, but it just didn't fit  
> -the "Regulus has read about them in a book" was my way of showing how unprepared Regulus was for the horrors of war, ie. he sees someone use the killing curse and recognizes it only from a book, I have no idea if that worked but it was to show how young he was  
> -basically what I was trying to say in the end was that Regulus felt that he had to die because only then would he know if he truly did all of this for himself, not for some other reason


End file.
